


don't give up (i’m workin' it out)

by ninamyyly



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Channeling Memories, Child Death, Child Neglect, Childbirth, Crossing Timelines, Diary/Journal, Flashbacks, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Intersex, Jealousy, M/M, Memory Magic, Mind Rape, Minor Murata Ken/Wolfram von Bielefeld, Minor Shinou/Rufus Bielefeld, Mpreg, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited, Past Rape/Non-con, Possibly Unrequited Love, Postpartum Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28758249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamyyly/pseuds/ninamyyly
Summary: When Wolfram's Lord Uncle begins pressuring him about marriage and continuing the von Bielefeld line, Wolfram and Yuuri are both faced with choices they have to make. Things are further complicated by old family curses, Wolfram being gifted his ancestor's old journal, and Murata Ken the Great Sage's sudden proposal for Wolfram's hand. As Wolfram begins to feel Rufus Bielefeld's memories far too keenly both on his body and mind, he must decide what is the best course of action for him to take; both for himself and for his family.
Relationships: Rufus Bielefeld/Lawrence Weller, Wolfram von Bielefeld/Shibuya Yuuri
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	don't give up (i’m workin' it out)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've always loved Kyou Kara Maou since my high school days, and after starting to reminisce, reading old and newer fanfics, rewatching the show and getting more acquinted with the novels and Drama CDs, I started to feel bad I never wrote anything for it. Especially when I had all this worldbuilding in mind and all the history that I came up with that made me ship my rarepair for the fandom. So I finally decided to go ahead and write it all down, and thus this was born. I hope there is some kind of an audience for it!
> 
> There probably are some triggers with this fic, so I'll be warning about them in the notes for each specific chapter. This chapter includes talk of arranged/forced marriage, of familial obligation to have children and implied child death.
> 
> Special thanks to my beloved Eghfeithrean for beta-reading! 💚. It's so wonderful to be working together again after so many years 🤗.

“Unrequited love is the infinite curse of a lonely heart.” –Christina Westover

The rays of spring sun caressed Wolfram’s cheeks like a welcoming, tender kiss as he arrived on the grounds of the castle that had belonged to his family since the days of His Majesty the Original King. The grand courtyard opening before him was beautiful as always, the clear water of the four artificial ponds glimmering in the natural light of the day. The gardeners were occupied with tending to the lawn and bushes, preparing them for the upcoming warmer months. As Wolfram passed them, he realized he didn’t recognize their faces; the faces of the stable hands that he and his entourage passed their horses onto were also unfamiliar to him. It was a stark reminder of how long it had been since he’d last been here, which was supposed to be his home. How long he had been pushing his duty to his family aside.

Perhaps it was well enough that he had come now, after all, when he had the opportunity. It wasn’t as though Wolfram currently had much else to occupy his time with at Blood Pledge Castle. Yuuri was away, visiting that Other World, preparing for his graduation from school. Wolfram knew that was something the King shouldn’t miss, if only to mark the end for his extended visits to the place where he was born. They had been talking about that for a while now: that once Yuuri finished his education in the Other World, he’d be considered an adult there and it wouldn’t be so startling and worrisome to society if he left to live his own life. Once he was finished with the ceremonies, Yuuri was seriously considering finally moving permanently to Shin Makoku, so he could rule as proper King.

Wolfram was both happy and unhappy about the prospect of that happening. He was glad that Yuuri would finally be able to dedicate himself fully to his kingdom and people, to grow into the King Wolfram had long known he could be. However, the thought of Yuuri living permanently in Shin Makoku was also a painful one, because Wolfram knew what that would mean. It would precede change; things would no longer be allowed to stand still and one way or another, everything would soon be different.

Knowing that was also why Wolfram, despite everything, had been reluctant to agree to visit his Lord Uncle in Bielefeld for the 88th anniversary of Wolfram’s birth. He’d known his Lord Uncle hadn’t just invited him to come out of affection or to commemorate the occasion – after all, he had sent Wolfram several letters insinuating what he desired to discuss with him beforehand. Wolfram thus far had burned them all, but deep down he’d known he couldn’t avoid facing his Lord Uncle forever. Nor could he avoid his duty calling, either.

Perhaps that was why he had agreed to come visit now, despite the ill feeling in the pit of his stomach that had followed him throughout his journey here. Perhaps a part of him merely wished to have it over and done with. Perhaps he was just lonely; with Yuuri gone and even Greta visiting Beatrice in Cavalcade, studying the customs of the human kingdoms herself. It wasn’t as though Wolfram had been expecting a celebration of any kind for himself at his age; that would have been childish and immature of him. He didn’t even particularly enjoy formal parties, although he would never admit that out loud. He couldn’t give the already Wimpy King any further excuses to not act with candor at such events.

Still, because Wolfram couldn’t be with his fiancé or his daughter on this day – and because it would’ve been even more infantile of him to expect his brothers to make time for him when they had enough to do as it was, making sure the country ran smoothly in the absence of its King – he hadn’t really had a good enough reason to refuse his Lord Uncle’s invitation to come to Bielefeld. Although he was fairly certain that only misery awaited him here.

Nonetheless, despite the dread weighing heavy in the pit of his stomach, Wolfram couldn’t deny the spark of joy and affection when his Lord Uncle came down from Bielefeld Castle to receive and greet him. He allowed the brief embrace Lord Waltrana gave him, but the way he assessed Wolfram with his eyes afterwards was more difficult to bear. He could almost hear his Lord Uncle’s thoughts as his eyes roamed Wolfram’s body, taking in the good points of his youth, breeding and looks. All things which Lord Waltrana could use for his own benefit, as much as for the benefit of their family line.

Still, for the moment, all his Lord Uncle said to him was, “You must be weary after your journey. Why don’t you rest and freshen up until dinnertime? We’ll talk more then, as I also have some work to finish beforehand.”

Wolfram nodded, grateful. “I would appreciate the time to rest for a while.”

Waltrana gave him a small smile. “Your old room has been prepared for you. I’m sure you are still able to find your way there. The servants will bring your things.” He leaned down and pressed a small kiss to Wolfram’s head. “I shall see you at dinner.”

Once Waltrana returned to the Castle, Wolfram made his way to the stables to first properly thank his loyal horse, Tilde, for her services in bringing him here safely and promptly. She was already content, having been relieved of her saddle, bags and reins, but Wolfram nevertheless petted her affectionately and offered her the apple he had been saving for the occasion. Afterwards, he retrieved his saddlebag from the stable hands and headed back outside to the courtyard. He wouldn’t be going inside the castle quite yet. He simply hadn’t wished to mention his intentions to his Lord Uncle, lest it may cause him pain, but he had somewhere to be before he could make his way to his rooms and rest.

For the moment, he dismissed his entourage for want of privacy and walked across the courtyard. He stepped into one of the eight gazebos at the center of the artificial ponds, kneeling before the lion crest of the von Bielefeld family that was carved into the gleaming stone floor. Using a short pocketknife from the saddlebag, he made a small bleeding cut onto his finger before pressing the drop of blood onto the lion’s eye. The carving began to shine as though from the inside, and Wolfram stepped back a little to wait for the stairs to form into the floor before him. Once they had fully opened, he created a ball of fire into the palm of his hand and stepped on the dark pathway down.

The Bielefeld family crypt was quiet and still as ever, the light of Wolfram’s fire only strong enough for him to see a little bit forward. It was alright, however, for Wolfram would not need to walk far. The ones he had come to visit were the second closest to the entrance currently, only having passed less than a year before Wolfram’s Lord Grandfather. He stopped by the old man’s likeness first, carved from the rock with the power of fire, out of respect if not affection. Wolfram took out a candle from the saddlebag, lit it with his magic, and set it at the feet of the statue.

He didn’t linger, stepping a bit further inside, until he reached the ones he had really come to see. Unlike most von Bielefelds in the crypts, standing with grace and dignity where they were, the twin statues were forever immortalized playing, running and laughing like the children they had been. When Wolfram had known them in life, they had seemed so tall. Now, they only reached his chest.

He crouched down, suddenly feeling heavy on his feet. Down from the floor, he could look at them almost as he once had. The realization made a lump grow into his throat. To distract himself from it, he dug out two more candles from his saddlebag, lit them, and set them down to light the young boys’ faces, their forever youthful smiles, from below. Wolfram could almost hear them calling for him, their laughter ringing in his ears the way he still remembered it.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the time he was able to gather himself. His legs were starting to ache from his position, and he stubbornly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before standing up. Too much time had passed since then for him to still weep over their loss, unfair as it had been. He gave the two boys one last look, firmly refraining from glancing over into the shadows on the opposite side of the crypt and the figure that stood in the darkness there, before turning around and leaving.

By the time he finally entered the Bielefeld castle, the sun had shifted to descent. Wolfram found his old room without great difficulty, despite the fact some of the décor of the corridors was now changed. He was grateful to find that someone had thought ahead and heated up a bath for him in the ensuite. After the long dusty ride, it was just what he needed, and he quickly undressed to immerse himself in the large claw-footed tub. It might not have been the large pool of a bath the Maou’s personal ensuite had, but it was more than enough, the water blissfully hot and smelling of soothing lavender bath salts and bubbles. It all served to ease the aches of his muscles and allow him to put his sorrows out of his mind at least for a moment.

It was so wonderful that he was only barely able to convince himself to climb out before he fell asleep in the tub. He grabbed the clean white robe left for him, drying his hair with a towel, and allowed himself to cool off for a bit before he begun to prepare himself for dinner. The servants had indeed brought his things, and he begun to brush his hair by the vanity. It almost made him laugh: the last time he'd been here, he'd had someone else do it for him. Now, Wolfram was too used to doing everything himself that the thought of calling in a valet in to assist him hadn’t even occurred to him. Yuuri disliked the way servants fussed over him in his private chambers, so personal assistants had been almost completely dismissed from the services of the King. Sharing the King’s rooms with him, Wolfram had slowly grown into the habit of managing by himself as well. He could now even admit that he almost enjoyed the privacy the lack of servants in his rooms gave him and Yuuri to spend together. It was yet one more thing that the King had changed in Wolfram.

He dressed in his more formal uniform, somewhat uncertain of what he’d be walking into. He expected some of Lord Waltrana’s advisers and vassals might join them for the meal, as they often did, especially since Wolfram’s visits were so rare an occasion. It was better to make the best possible impression. Wolfram tied his cravat, attached the blue jewel brooch onto it, and finished his look with a soft blue ribbon to tie his hair into the slim ponytail he had started favoring since he’d begun to grow his hair out.

Soon enough, one of the maids arrived to let him know Lord Waltrana would be waiting for him in the formal dining room. Wolfram was immediately glad he had opted for a more formal dress; he merely hoped his Lord Uncle hadn’t gone overboard with everything. Wolfram truly wasn’t in the mood for a large party full of tedious people tonight, but he would bear whatever he had to, as a good heir of the von Bielefeld name must.

He was surprised to only see his Lord Uncle in the room as he entered to attend dinner, but thought that perhaps the others would join them later. However, even as they sat down and several courses of food were brought in, it remained just the two of them. Only the flavors familiar from his childhood – that Wolfram hadn’t realized quite how much he’d missed – made it possible for him to finish the entire meal, with how much nerves churned in his stomach.

Once dessert – sweet chocolate tarts laced with alcohol that warmed Wolfram from the inside in the cooling spring night, decorated with fresh seasonal berries – was brought to them, however, Wolfram found he could no longer hold his tongue. “Will it only be the two of us all night?”

“I wanted some time alone with you,” Waltrana responded, taking a sip from the glass of cognac he was enjoying with the sweet treat. “I feel there are things we must talk of.”

Wolfram swallowed painfully, reaching for his own drink – perhaps he should’ve seen this coming. Thus not caring for his manners for once, he finished his glass in a few long, probably undignified gulps. At least no one other than Lord Waltrana and the servants working around them was present to see him lose his composure.

Wolfram made sure to eat his dessert as slowly as he believably could, downing two more glasses of alcohol with it. With the warm haze of slight tipsiness over him, he felt readier to face his Lord Uncle and what he had to say.

Indeed, as soon as Wolfram set his fork down on his finished plate, Waltrana placed his napkin down onto the table and stood to his feet. “Come with me, nephew.”

Wolfram swallowed down his remaining nerves, steeling his shoulders as he rose to follow his Lord Uncle. Night had fallen while they’d been dining, the mostly deserted corridors of the Bielefeld castle only lit by candles and moonlight now. Wolfram tried to be steady on his feet despite the alcohol, following Waltrana to a door that Wolfram recognized leading to his Lord Uncle’s office. Waltrana took out a key, unlocking the door and stepping inside. As Wolfram followed, Waltrana used a flicker of his wrist to light the candles to engulf the room in their soft, warm glow.

“Wolfram,” Waltrana started, his eyes serious and dark in the dim light. “I am sure you understand what I wish to discuss with you.”

“You haven’t exactly been subtle about it in your letters,” Wolfram admitted.

“You have been engaged for six years now, Wolfram,” Waltrana stated. “One way or another, something has to change, and the sooner the better. You can’t allow your feelings to cloud your judgment on what must happen for much longer.”

Wolfram bit the inside of his cheek, his heart beginning to pound painfully in his chest. “So, you would rather that I disregard myself entirely, and enter a loveless marriage?”

“Wolfram, you have to understand. I didn’t want for it to come to this,” Waltrana said, and Wolfram almost believed him from the ache he could hear in his voice. “I was willing to give your union with His Majesty time. At first, I hoped that he may come to love you in return. Then, that at least that he would wed you and give you children out of duty or friendship.”

Wolfram’s stomach clenched up, and he could feel his eyes burning. But he refused to look away from his Uncle and give him the satisfaction of seeing his reaction.

“Neither has happened,” Waltrana continued. “Meanwhile, this engagement has gone on for far too long. You’re the future of our noble family, Wolfram, and you’re not a child anymore. It is time you marry and have children of your own to continue our legacy. Otherwise, you know as well as I that our lineage will perish.”

Anger and hurt burned deep down in Wolfram’s throat, scorching and familiar. “If this is only about continuing our family line, _you_ marry someone else and have more children!”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. The feeling of that was familiar as well; he’d always struggled with the way his emotions ran too hot and how he often couldn’t hold his tongue. He wasn’t a good actor because of that either, his emotions always plain to be read on his face and mannerisms. It hadn’t made finding him a good match at all easier since he had been old enough to be considered for such things. He was sure everyone had let out a sigh of relief when Yuuri had proposed. Even he himself had, once he had gotten used to the idea and accepted the Wimp as the Maou.

Yet now, his Lord Uncle wanted to take that away from him.

The thought made the guilt over his words sting a little less, even as Wolfram saw the brief expression of pain that passed over Waltrana’s face. Regardless, the Lord of Bielefeld quickly composed himself with a brief shutting of his eyes.

“You are very well aware of why such a thing is not possible for me,” Waltrana said. “Regardless, you’re meant to be the Lord of our Great Family one day, and you are of the next generation: my departed Lord Brother’s only child. Continuing the von Bielefeld name rests on you far more than it does me, and you know that.”

Wolfram lowered his eyes, biting down on his lip, unable to do anything else. He knew his Lord Uncle was right, yet he felt as though he’d rather die than admit so.

“This does not have to be a completely unfortunate thing for you, Wolfram,” Waltrana said. “If there is no love in the marriage, at least you will be spared from the Curse.”

Wolfram couldn’t help the scoff that escaped his lips. “The Curse again, Uncle?”

“I know in the youth that you still have, it can feel unbelievable,” Waltrana said. “Nonetheless, believe me when I tell you that if you continue on the path you are on, you will come to see the Curse’s effects. I do not wish to see you suffer through them; not when I know how deeply you would feel them. An arranged marriage is a much safer option for you.”

Waltrana turned to walk around his desk. “That brings me to another reason I invited you here,” he said, and Wolfram more heard than saw him open one of the drawers. He pulled out a leather-bound book of medium thickness, its pages and covers both equally worn down by the ages.

Waltrana returned to Wolfram, holding out the volume in two hands. “I think it is time you had this.”

Wolfram took the book slowly into his own hands, feeling the softened leather with his fingers and smelling the scent of old parchment. He also felt something else. There was magic in this book, similar to what was in the entrances to the family crypt. Blood magic. “What is it?”

“It is the journal of the founding ancestor of our noble family, Rufus Bielefeld,” Waltrana said. “It has traditionally been passed down from first son to first son. Eventually, it ought to have been your Lord Father’s duty to give it to you, but…”

A mutual pained silence filled with things they didn’t talk about passed between them. Wolfram didn’t allow it to linger, quickly moving to break it, “Why are you only now giving it to me? It could have held some useful information on the Originators or the Forbidden Boxes those years ago.”

“Not much of what is written in it would’ve been useful for you back then. Only things we may consider trivial are included for the most part,” Waltrana said. “Besides, truth to be told, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the thought that what is written in it would reach the ears of people who don’t belong to the family. I believe that is what he, who wrote the journal, also wanted. I’m sure you can feel the blood seal on it. Only members belonging to our family can read it.”

Waltrana crossed his arms. “In any case, you should have it now, at least. Reading it may help you decide what you must do, as you learn more about the Curse and its origins.”

Wolfram held the journal carefully against himself, mindful of its long history and its importance to his family line. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but feel bitter as it laid in his arms, as though it was a symbol of everything that was happening. He realized he doubted his Lord Uncle would be pressing on this issue so hard, unless…

“You already have someone in mind for me to marry instead of Yuuri, don’t you,” he let out, more of a statement than a question.

“Someone has extended a proposal for your hand to me, yes,” Waltrana said. “It would be a good match. One where you wouldn’t have to be ashamed that His Majesty didn’t marry you.”

Wolfram’s breath caught. There was only one person in the entire kingdom who ranked equally high to the King, and therefore wouldn’t be a step down from Yuuri. “The Great Sage? He has made an offer for my hand?” Waltrana hummed in agreement. “Have you agreed already?”

“Not officially, but I have made it clear that we are honored by his offer and would welcome him to our family, should you accept him as your husband,” Waltrana said. “He may be only a half-Mazoku as is His Majesty, but his ranking and wisdom make that matter irrelevant. Marrying him would bring admiration to our family, and if you choose him, we wouldn’t lose face over His Majesty rejecting you. We may even be able to spin the story in a way that makes it seem like His Grace simply found you too irresistible to not take you away from the King.”

Wolfram fought the urge to scream, clutching the old journal closer just so he wouldn’t drop it in shock. The world spun around him. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t recall a single incident where the Great Sage had shown any kind of attraction or interest towards him. What possible reason could he therefore have to suddenly make an offer for Wolfram’s hand to his Lord Uncle?

He shook himself out of his stupor. “I will consider your words, Uncle,” Wolfram forced himself to say. “For the moment, however, may I be excused?”

“You may, but I ask that you mean it when you say you will consider what I’ve told you,” Waltrana said. “I have no place for empty promises, Wolfram. You need to think like an adult, consider all sides of your situation, and make a decision. I must also implore that you do not dawdle on deciding. I will not force you into doing anything, but I also don’t want to hear childish excuses for whatever choice you will make. Your decision must be thought-out well, no matter what you choose.”

Wolfram swallowed down the lump in his throat, suddenly feeling weary beyond words. He forced himself to nod, to make a silent vow to honor his Lord Uncle enough to respect what he’d said. “Will you allow me some time to decide? One year, perhaps?”

Waltrana sighed. “I shall, although I hope you’ll decide sooner than that. We cannot know how long this opportunity will be within our reach.”

Wolfram nodded again. “I understand.”

“Very well, then,” Waltrana said, answering his nod. “Good night, nephew.”

“Good night, Uncle.”

Wolfram left as quickly as he could without it seeming as though he was escaping, walking the silent, dark corridors in haste to his chambers. The long day weighing on him, he set the journal on his nightstand and quickly began to undress, changing into his nightgown and settling down in bed.

Sitting down against the pillows, for a moment, he considered simply going to sleep immediately. Yet a part of him felt as though the journal was staring at him, burning a hole into his head. Perhaps it was merely his own brimming curiosity that wouldn’t let him be and simply rest.

He reached for the journal, feeling it respond to his kinship with the one who had written it, and carefully turned onto the first page.

…

_Entry #1_

_Today, it is the anniversary of my birth. Today, I am 90._

_This journal is a gift from Siegbert. It would be immature of me to expect much of a celebration on the frontlines, but I cannot deny I am grateful for receiving even this much. As he made this journal by his own hand, I feel I must show my appreciation by trying to use it as well._

_He said to me, upon giving it, that perhaps it may be something I can use to occupy my time at camp. He is probably right, as he often is, although I am loath to admit so. All the waiting we must do in-between battle is wearing on us all. I suppose we are all attempting to find something that may take our minds off waiting and wondering. Perhaps that is why Sieg has started making things with his hands of late._

_Additionally, Sieg also knows me better than anyone else. He likely knows I have barely been sleeping, restless as I am. I cannot help how my mind wanders to past and future battles; the lives and ground we have lost and may still lose. I have attempted to calm myself by wandering the camp, but it does no good for anyone. Sieg probably hopes instead of keeping everything inside, I may use writing in this journal as an outlet for my thoughts._

_It is irritating that he is able to read me so well. However, in this case, it is probably best I follow along his ideas. Therefore, I shall begin here._

_I, Rufus Bielefeld, the youngest and only surviving child of Anselm and Liesel Bielefeld, have been fighting alongside our Glorious Leader for a year. The force of Originators destroyed my home and lands, as well as those of my childhood companion, Siegbert Voltaire. Therefore, hoping to prevent the Originators from progressing in their spread of destruction, we joined the fight against them._

_Still, as much as Leader and his Strategist give us at least a fighting chance, and hope, I can admit here that the battle is disheartening sometimes. Our enemy seems so much grander than any of us; a force we cannot even truly understand. I do not know how much we can do; in my weakest moments, I do not even believe we can win. Nonetheless, I fight, and shall do so until my dying breath. After all, They saved us, and without Them, we would not be here. Fighting by Their side is the least I can do for Them. Many may consider us, and our Glorious Leader especially, foolish and insane, but when all else has been lost, there is nothing for us to lose. We may as well perish fighting._

_Here, perhaps I can nonetheless admit how I long for it not to be so. It may be immature of me, but at times I cannot help but be bitter that this life is all I have left now. I am still young. I should be living my life rather than fighting to keep it in a war I do not think I shall survive._

_Perhaps I can admit I wish that I could at least fall in love before I perish._

_Truly, maybe it is for the best Sieg gave this journal onto me. I know these are words I cannot say out loud to anyone, lest they grow discouraged because of them. If someone in His inner circle cannot keep faith, how could anyone else? Therefore, it is best all that I write here stays between us._

_I am grateful that I have you. I shall thank Sieg properly in the morning, for now I must rest. I believe tonight, I will finally sleep restfully._

_Until again,_

_~Rufus Bielefeld_

…

As if talk of sleep on the pages was starting to affect him, Wolfram’s eyes began to fall closed. The alcohol in his veins was also likely affecting him. Satisfied that he had started to read the journal, he put it away and shut out the lit candles with a whisk of his hand before settling down to sleep.

He had strange dreams that night. Ones he wasn’t able to fully recall when he woke up the next morning. All that remained was a peculiar ringing in his ears that sounded oddly like names. _“Adrian…Leon…Adrian…Leon…”_

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ninamyylly) and on [Tumblr](https://ninamyyly.tumblr.com/) as well!
> 
> Idk if it was ever specified if Murata is Mazoku at all in his current body, but I've always headcanoned him as half-Mazoku like Yuuri. If that's incorrect, please just go with it for the sake of this story (I didn't think Waltrana would allow Wolf to marry a full human, Great Sage or not). There will be some other things in this fic as well that might be in conflict with what we know/have learned about Mazoku history, but I'll defend my writing by saying history is often cleaned up and written by the victors 🙃.


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